


10 Days of Prompts: Day 3

by InkedClaws



Category: Original Work
Genre: Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedClaws/pseuds/InkedClaws
Summary: There was a war going on between the witch clan, it had been raging for two centuries





	

The newscaster was visibly pale as he struggled to wrap his mind around the words leaving his mouth.

"Today, the citizens of Milan, Italy were victims of a large scale terrorist attack. On lookers watched on in horror as several explosions rocked key points of the heavily populated city. The bodies of several thousand people littered the streets. Hundreds more trapped in buildings or in metro stations and tunnels. Countless more men, women and children are unaccounted for. 1.3 million Souls snuffed out in an instant."

The footage they used showed only a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Brick and mortar buildings burned; the flames so hot the firefighter could do nothing to put them out. Children crying in the street, sirens blaring, shell shocked people wandering the streets in tattered clothing and broken heels. 

"None of the world's known terrorist organizations have claimed responsibility for this atrocity."  
Chandralar muted the television, tossing the remote away in disgust. Of course none of them took the blame, not a single one of them had the power, resources or the gall to pull something like this off. No, it wasn't any of the usual suspects. 

She shook her head, trying desperately to dislodge the memories of dead children from her mind's eye. She curled up on her couch, clutching a small wooden rod tightly to her chest. Etched deep into its wood were powerful and ancient summoning runes. She closed her eyes and conjured up the memories associated, with the powerful instrument. She remembered a time filled will more happiness and less fear, a time her mother would whisper to the rod as though she was speaking to an old friend. She remembered her grandmother telling her stories of great battle waged for ownership of this little rod, whose power held the balance of the entire world in order. She'd remembered being told that it was her people's sacred duty to protect the rod from abuse. 

But all of that was long gone, just like Milan. Long before it had leaked into the mundane world the war had ripped through her people. A simple argument between the oldest and youngest of the witch clans had spiraled out of control. Fucking True Witches. This war had been going strong for over 200 years and the body count was grotesque. Creatures both fantastical and fae, Witches bound and true had been murdered by the hundreds of thousands. Their only crime was failing to choose the 'right' side or maybe not choosing at all.

Chandrlar scoffed at the thought. No she knew their crime. Their crime had been inaction, choosing to believe that it would never involve them, that because they weren't Witches they never feel the war's effects. Fools, all of them. When her clan had warned them that it was going to spiral out of control, they refused to listen; choosing to instead stand behind their non-interference pact. She squeezed the rod in her hands so hard it hurt, the intricate carvings digging into delicate fingers. She'd watched her home be swallowed up by one forbidden spell, people, buildings and animals ripped in multiple directions by the unnatural black hole. She remembered clutching the rod in a rigor mortis like grip and running until her lungs and legs burned. She didn't stumble or look back; there was no back, only forward, only escape. The screams of her loved ones behind her, the searing heat of fire spells whizzing past her face, her grandfather's strong steady voice pounding in her ears. 

"You keep going until you die, you hear me? Don’t stop for nothin' and nobody. They cannot get their filthy hands on that rod. It is your birthright. DO YOU HEAR ME? "

Her back still burned from where he'd used his unrelenting force spell to push her away, to give her a head start. He was dead, they all were, but she was alive and she would keep running. 

That felt like forever ago. Since then she's practiced and studied, honing her skills and growing her power for this moment. Soon it would be time, soon she would unleash the powers held in this rod and put an end to this senseless war. Soon she would make them all pay, they would grovel and beg and she would show them the same mercy they'd shown everyone else. 

It would end in fire, pain and death. And she was alright with that.


End file.
